Another South Side Irish Adventure

Someone who knows about job searches had just told me that I needed to sharpen up my resume and get some kind of narrative going on my own personal talents.  I thought I might just take it to the next level and meet with my informal adviser, Willie the Bus Driver from my high school alma mater, Mount Carmel High School. I wanted Willie's thoughts. Willie's been dead for many years, but being Irish and supersitious, I never let death put a halt to good conversation. So I was game if Willie was.

Willie was a tough guy although tiny--his features were elfish like  Santa Claus. Instead of red, he dressed in grey like the Maytag repairman.  Unlike Santa, who has a magic dentist, Willie had few teeth. And he talked kind of funny, but he was our man. We loved Willie and knew there was wisdom in most everything he said.

So I walked over to 114th and Western in Chicago this morning and waited for the Brown and White bus. The bus was a long time coming.  It has been in some kind of other dimension. But it did come at last and Willie pulled the bus over and the huge old fashioned mechanical doors swung open. I hopped up the stairs just like the old days and showed Willie my old Carmel ID-shown above. He looked it over and looked at me and said: "how does I know it's you?" Before I could think of anything to say, Willie said, "Oh, forget it."

As I sat accross from Willie, it dawned on me that I was approaching Willie's age now, the age that the "old boy" had died. Once I got past that scary thought, he looked over at me and said, "so why does you want to see me, Norris."

"Well, Willie, you see I am having difficulty finding a new job and people tell me I have to really sell myself.  And it's just hard and I thought I would ask someone who could help me--maybe make up some bull. And I thought of you."

Willie looked at me and said, "I think yoos got yousself the wrong man, Norris.  I am no good at bull, but maybe I can help."

I wasn't sure I agreed with what Willie said, but I waited for the wisdom. Willie stopped talking for a few minutes and he lit up a smoke--a Marlboro long.

"Well, I'd drop the bull and tell them yoos went to Mount Carmel.  That has to help, duzntit?"

"I guess I could do that, I usually just put my colleges, Benedictine College and National Louis University on my resume, but who knows, maybe that might work," I said.

I started to wonder if I had overestimated Willie's wisdom. 

As the bus pulled up toward 107th Street, Willie said, "We're going to pick up your old pal Hannie. Maybe he has some ideas."

Jeez, I thought, this is getting kinda of complicated.  First I pull Willie out of retirement (and the grave) and now he has a guest for me. 

There with a couple of sweet rolls about the size of frisbies and a stryrofoam cups of hot coffee stood one of the south side's greatest politicians who never ran for public office, my old pal Hannie.  Hannie was a couple inches taller than Willie. Today,  he dressed a little like Buster Brown. I closed my eyes and shook my head and then looked again, but he was still dressed the same way--like a very old fashioned school boy.  Then I remembered, Hannie wore Buster Brown shoes.  Then it dawned on me that as usual whoever had control of things today was not me.  

The big mechanical door swung open and Hannie climbed up the stairs. In a second or two he was sitting across from me.  He handed one coffee and sweet roll to Willie and took the other for himself.  He had done the same every morning he took the brown and white in high school and it seemed natural today.

I looked at Hannie a little puzzled because I knew most of the neighborhood had changed. "Where'd you get the sweet rolls?"

"Wendt's diner, open today for this special occassion," exclaimed Hannie.

I looked across the steet and sure enough the restaurant and sign had reappeared after many years. And when I looked closely, I could see old man Wendt in his white shirt and apron. "He must be 110 at least," I said.

"No, he was younger when he died and thats where he stays," said Hannie.

Not sure how the age of the dead works out, I just kept quiet.

Willie looked at Hannie and thanked him for the treats. Then he said, "Hannie, your old Pal, Norris, here isn't having much luck finding a job and he wants to know if yoos have any ideas for him."

Hannie looked at me and said, "so that's the deal--wondered what this was all about.  You're looking for some connections."

"No, Hannie, I am just wondering what in the hell I am doing wrong, it's just not working."

"Well, my uncle was the president of the outside electricians, but he's dead. And you know my mom worked at city hall and she knew the first Daley, but she is long dead, too."

And then as Willie and I stared at each other, Hainnie went through a litany of dead people, a hundred names or more who could have helped me, but they were all gone. It was a good refresher course for our time back in the day on the South Side. 

"Well, Hannie, maybe you can ask all the dead for their prayers, that might be about best."

"OK, Norris, they can sure do that."

My mind wonered back to my dad who had some connections, but he told my brother and I that there would be no new policemen in the family. By the time I was in high school, not only were the cops poorly paid, but they were harassed by war demonstraters and villainized like never before. They got no respect and my dad wanted us to have some of that. 

Willie interupted, "well boys we are approaching 103rd Street and that means Dan Dollar will be there. Maybe Dollar will have some ideas."

Sure enough, the brown and white pulled up and there was Dollar, a little grey around the edges, but sporting his old buckskin coat with leather fringe. Dollar was our entertainment in high school, he did  immitations of teachers, movies stars, comedians and other notables. He was one of the coolist guys in high school--at least we thought so, but we weren't exactly in the "cool club."  Suddenly, I felt excited.  I knew Dad was a late-bloomer and had manuevered his way around the Chicago Public School system. If anyone would know the ropes to job hunting, it would be him.

The bus stopped and Willie opened the huge door. The stooped figure of Dan Dollar bound up the stairs and deposit himself on a seat.  About a second after we go the "how the hell are you, Dollar," out of our mouths, Dollar was doing his immitations of the top entertainers like he had done back in the day. I thought  he would be doing new stars of the day; Dan was always very contemporary. But instead he entertained with routines from the old Ed Sullivan Show including two of the wierdest acts by today's standards, Poppo Gigio and  Senor Wences. Not very cool, but for us very entertaining. As in school, Dan added a boy's high school twist to the humor and I am not sure if it would have passed decency standards. 

After some "oh Eddie's" and funky Spanish, we give Dollar some warm applause.  Dollar looked over at me and said, "so what do you need?"

I explained for him all the problems I had with job hunting. The dead ends, the frustations over all kinds of things involved in it and the idea that people were looking for long lists of talents that certainly no human being had. Dollar leaned back and looked at me and then over at Hainne and Willie.  "You know what he needs to win at the job game today, don't you?"

Hainnie shook his head.

Willie light up another cigarette and said nothing.

I looked at Dollar and exasperated, I said, "OK, what!"

Dollar looked at me and said, "Sharp elbows. You need to move in and clear everyone else out of the way."

"Sharp elbows," I said.  You mean we wake Willie from the dead, he brings this bus from another dimention, and we all come back to the school bus for a dose of wisdom and we get "sharp elbows?"

Dillon looks at me and says, "What do you expect from a guy who looks like the Maytag Repairman, another dressed as Buster Brown and an amateur comedian who looks like an aging rock star? If you wanted some genius ideas on a job, you should have had Bill Gates and Warren Buffet!" 

I looked at myself in my high school Brown and White coat and started to feel kind of foolish. For the rest of the trip to nowhere we sat by the windows and looked girl's legs in the cars below. Just like the old days, I thought.  

The Brown and White

Forty plus years in the making, The Brown and White is a fictionalized memoir that tells the story of Collin Callaghan's freshman year at a Chicago Catholic High School. Collin is a white boy who is living in turbulent times in a changing city. He clings to his neighborhood and his family as he heads out each day with his classmates on the Brown and White, the ancient school bus driven by free-spirited Willie. Memorable characters abound as this story unfolds. Collin's loveable family, especially his Irish Catholic policeman father and his Irish immigrant mother face life together. Collin and classmates blaze their own humorous and passionate trail through the late 1960s. A unique cast of terrific teachers are there to see the boys through. Laughs and life meet readers head on as they travel on the Brown and White.